


The Throne of the Circus King

by The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Chair Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't expect great plot or charachter development, M/M, My excuse to use as much dom Barnum talk as possible, Oral Sex, PWP, Pure Smut, Rough Sex, it's really just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting/pseuds/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting
Summary: Phineas acquires a new prop for the circus. He and Phillip then have fun breaking it in.





	1. Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover provided by em3kitty


	2. Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a break from the heavy angst that is What Remains. I wrote 5k of pure smutty goodness instead. Enjoy!

The chair had been delivered that afternoon. It was part of a set for an elaborate new dance. That was the official excuse. The probably more likely explanation was that Phineas had seen it being thrown away outside a house and just _had_ to have it. This sort of thing stroked his ego. To be fair to the man, he had done a good job of repairing the frame where it had been broken and re-covering the seat in fresh fabric. It looked rather splendid, sat in the middle of the circus ring.

Because ‘chair’ didn’t really do it justice. Throne would be more accurate.

“Geez, Barnum,” Lettie had sighed when she’d seen it. “What are we even going to do with it?”

“It’ll be a set piece,” Phineas insisted. “A prop. I’m thinking of a new routine.”

Phillip had rolled his eyes at that because, oh yes, he could well imagine Phineas would just love to be sat in a throne with people dancing around him. It’s what he does on a daily basis anyway. Phineas glanced over at Phillip at that moment and saw his expression. Phineas grinned at him and Phillip could feel himself blushing.

* * *

Phineas insisted that the throne was lighter than it looked. It could easily be carried backstage between performances. But, for now, it remains at the centre of the circus ring ready for rehearsals the next day. They’d be running Barnum’s new routine in the morning. Phillip is alone in the tent. Everyone else has long since gone home but Phillip is, as per usual, waiting for Phineas to finish up in his office. The man seems to have his own concept of time and if he is distracted by something, be it business affairs that needed attending to or a new idea that had popped into his head and needed to be worked out right that second, then  he could easily be absorbed for hours.

Phillip sighs to himself. He wants to go home.  He could go on ahead, but that would just give Phineas free reign to remain at the circus even longer. That would be no good at all for the man’s health, something which Phillip was making it his business to monitor. He cared too much about Phineas to see him work himself into illness. Besides, he was sure Phineas would be an _unbearable_ patient. He also does not wish to fall asleep at home waiting for Phineas. He has other ideas for how they could spend whatever is left of the evening. If Phineas ever decides to put in an appearance.

There wasn’t much to do in the circus after hours. There isn’t even any work to occupy Phillip’s mind. The animals are fed and given water. Everything is neat and tidied away. Except for the throne. Phillip walks around it, examining it a little closer. He runs one hand over the intricate carvings in the wood. Deng Yan had admired them earlier and swore they were Malaysian. Phillip is inclined to believe her. She’s apparently been everywhere. What a chair with Malaysian carvings was doing being thrown away at the side of a New York street is anyone’s guess. What Phineas saw in it is obvious. Ostentatious, arrogant, undeniably pleasing to the eye. It’s just like Phineas himself.

Circling back to the front of the chair, Phillip flops down. He kicks his feet up over one high arm of the chair and leans back over the other. There is stiffness in his shoulders, down his spine, which he needs to work out. He arches his back, stretching enough to just graze the floor with his fingertips. He holds the stretch for one long in breath. Holds. Releases. Anne had been showing him how to stretch properly. She wants him to increase his flexibility, has ideas about getting him up on the Lyra as part of the show at some point. Phillip isn’t sure how he feels about that but he goes along with her exercises anyhow.

He rights himself again, still draped over the chair, but more relaxed. He closes his eyes. If he’s going to be here a while he may as well get comfy.

Phillip isn’t sure if he actually drifts off for a while, or if Phineas just has really good timing. It seems that Phillip has just started to relax when he hears a voice calling to him.

“Ah, there you are.”

Phillip opens his eyes, any trace of sleep brushed instantly away. Phineas is standing across the ring from Phillip, watching him. Phillip can’t help but wonder how long he’s been there, if he saw his silly little stretching routine. Determined not to be flustered just by the man’s proximity, Phillip swings his feet back to the floor as gracefully as possible. He sprawls in the chair, his legs casually far apart.

“You took your time,” he says.

“I had business to attend to,” Phineas replies, lightly. “But now I can see there were far more urgent matters that needed my attention.”

He begins walking slowly towards Phillip across the sawdust. He’s got his coat and hat on, clearly ready to leave, but as he approaches Phillip he removes his hat and then starts to steadily unbutton his coat. Phillip’s heart does a little double beat. Phineas is clearly in a teasing mood tonight. That suits Phillip just fine.

“I was about ready to give up waiting.” It is a lie, and he is sure Phineas knows that. Phineas chuckles lowly, a soft rumble in his chest.

“I don’t think so.” He’s directly in front of Phillip now, looking down at him. That piercing gaze scans over Phillip’s body, appraisingly. He’s between Phillip’s still spread legs and nudges Phillip’s feet with his own, spreading them still wider apart. He tosses his coat carelessly to one side but places his hat carefully on Phillip’s head. It’s just a little too big, and slips down his forehead. Phineas laughs again, affectionately, as he pushes the hat backwards, then takes Phillip’s chin between his fingers. “Don’t you look adorable,” he comments and Phillip glares. Phineas pays him no mind and continues, “Now. What exactly are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you?” Phillip tries to stare Phineas down but he can feel the heat rising in his face with every second.

“I can see that.” Phineas bends down to kiss him. He’s still holding Phillip’s chin. He uses his grip to hold him in place for several long, heated seconds before pushing him away just slightly. “But,” another brief kiss, “I think you will find,” _another_ kiss, “that seat is reserved for the circus king, not any usurping little princes.” Desire grips Phillip’s insides at Phineas’ words, even more so at the next. “Out you get now, little boy.”

Phillip feels weak. He doesn’t think he could move if he wanted to. “And...If I don’t?” he asks, stalling for time.

One side of Phineas’ mouth quirks upwards in a half smirk. “I was hoping you would say that. Because now I just have to make you.”

With that said, Phineas releases Phillip’s face but only to grab a firm handful of the front of his shirt. He hauls Phillip forwards by it, tugging him into another searing kiss. It last longer this time. Phillip’s hands remain gripping at the arms of the chair, fingernails digging into the wood, as he strains upwards into the kiss. He must look positively debauched like this, legs spread wide to accommodate Phineas, sprawled out beneath him. Just ready to be ruined. Well, more ruined than he already has been. At some point, Phineas decides the hat is getting in the way and casts that aside too. He continues to pull Phillip even closer by his shirt. Phillip releases the arms of the chair to place his hands on Phineas’ shoulders, gripping at the older man’s shirt in returning and deepening their contact. An idea occurs to him.

Slowly, gradually, Phillip leans back in the chair. He draws his feet back too, tucking them up onto the seat. Phineas allows the movement. In fact he groans against Phillip’s lips. Phillip looking small and perhaps just a little bit helpless is clearly appealing to him. 

There is a tremble in Phillip’s legs which has everything to do with how Phineas curls his tongue inside Phillip’s mouth. He has to use the grip on Phineas’ shoulders to steady himself as he carefully gets to his feet, standing in the chair. The plush red velvet sinks just slightly beneath his feet. He’s taller than Phineas like this, has to bend down to carry on the kisses. Phineas doesn’t seem to mind. It increases the passion of those kisses if anything. Phineas’ hands move up Phillip’s arms. He tiptoes his fingers over Phillip’s neck, dipping below his collar to stroke further and causing Phillip to make those soft whining noises he always does. Phineas knows how sensitive Phillip is. When he’s worked up like this it’s as though every inch of his skin is charged, receptive to the most fleeting of touches.

It is not long before Phillip feels the older man’s hands moving to his shoulders.  Phineas is gently shifting Phillip’s suspenders aside, the left side first. He lets the right side ping back onto Phillip’s shoulder before removing it. A warning growl builds in Phillip’s throat. Not that it does anything to warn Barnum off. That it will only encourage his teasing is more likely.

Predictably, it is answered by Phineas laughing and breaking the kiss, looking up at Phillip. Phillip’s insides squirm at that look. It is rare to see Phineas like this, so open and vulnerable in his sheer happiness for the moment they are sharing. His smile makes him look years younger. He could almost be Phillip’s age. Younger.

It does not last long. Quickly that smile darkens as Phillip continues to look down at him. Phillip tries to match it with one of his own but knows he fails badly. Particularly when Phineas steps closer still, until his shins are right up against the seat. It forces Phillip to tilt his head further to keep eye contact. How does Phineas manage to be in control, even now?

“Getting ideas above your station again, I see,” says Phineas, still looking up at Phillip in a way that is positively leering. “Time to do something about that.”  Without breaking eye contact, he starts to steadily pull Phillip’s shirt free from his trousers. The trousers are already loose without the suspenders and now Phineas undoes the button with a deft flick of his fingers.

Phillip’s breath is coming sharper now, ragged panting as he watches Phineas lean in and kiss a bare, exposed inch of skin near Phillip’s naval. Phillip’s hands flutter, resting on Phineas’ head and one shoulder, fighting to maintain balance.

It is a senseless fight. A second later all balance is taken from him as Phineas lifts him. He wraps his arms around the tops of Phillip’s legs, cups his hands beneath the swelling of Phillip’s ass and lifts. Phillip screeches, his hands clawing for purchase once more at the back of Phineas neck, sure that he will fall but at the same time knowing that Phineas would never let that happen to him. Phineas just laughs at his panic, and at the little scratch marks Phillip is leaving behind. He keeps holding Phillip up but allows him to slide down his body, to wrap his legs around Phineas’ waist. As Phillip is sinking into this new position, Phineas turns them around slowly, perfect poise as he rotates on the spot and then sits down. Phillip is in his lap now. One knee tucks neatly down either side between Phineas’ thighs and the high arms of the chair.

“This is more like it,” says Phineas. He’s just a little breathless now, Phillip is pleased to note. “This is a place far more suited to you.”

“Enough talk of places,” Phillip grumbles. It is not that he really minds. Well, he does mind but not in a bad way. The bulge in his loosened trousers is evidence of that. He just refuses to give Phineas the satisfaction of knowing quite what this dominance act of his does to Phillip. To mask it, Phillip asks with as much surety as he can muster, “Are you going to fuck me, or not?”

Phineas seems to genuinely consider for a moment. He makes a soft humming noise of thought and drums his fingers idly. (And as his hands are still clasped on Phillip’s ass at the moment, the feeling is both demeaning and rather wonderful.) “I think,” he says after a while, “decidedly ‘not’.” Then he grips Phillip tighter, pulling the boy closer to him and grinding their erections against one another. Still both clothed though they might be (Phillip rather less so than Phineas) the sensation shoots pleasure through Phillip’s veins. He moans long and loud, the sound going some way to fill the empty circus tent.

“Tease,” he mutters, glowering.

“Quite,” Phineas replies, happily. He rolls his hips again and Phillip groans, his back arching. Phineas trails one hand up under Phillip’s shirt and drags his nails over pale skin. Phillip hisses, squirming and that brushes his crotch against Phineas’ once more. He can just picture the patterns Phineas is tracing with his nails. Phillip lets his head flop forwards onto Phineas’ shoulder with a whimper.

It may seem a submissive gesture at first, giving himself over to Phineas’ whims. And it is, partly. But it also gives Phillip the angle needed to begin kissing at the side of Phineas’ neck. He peppers it with soft, open mouthed kisses, trails his lips along the column of his lover’s throat. Phineas grunts and tilts his head a little to the side, giving Phillip yet more access. Steadily, Phillip works his way up to Phineas’ ear and nuzzles at it. He sucks at the lobe and then nips it with a mixture of affection and raw passion.

Phineas’ moaning turns to a sharp hiss and he swats at Phillip’s ass. It only encourages Phillip to tug at the ear with his teeth, just a little bit. That earns him another hard slap.

“Little animal,” Phineas murmurs. “Biting. Writhing about like a bitch in heat.”

Phillip should hate this. It should be despicable to be spoken down to like this. Most sane, rational people, surely all the people Phillip once acquainted himself with in his former life, would baulk at the very notion. But then, all those people Phillip knew before would also recoil at the thought of two men being together. Phillip wasn’t about to give either option up any time soon. He sucks bruises onto Phineas’ skin, working under his collar, slipping shirt buttons undone as they get in his way. All the while, their hips move together, grinding, thrusting in sync with one another.

It is a good job that everyone else has long since left. It is a good job also that their new tent is in a good patch of land where there is no chance of anyone overhearing. Phineas is not a quiet lover and Phillip, although still clinging to some lingering sense of decorum, can be encouraged to near screaming pitch given the right stimulus. If there is someone sneaking around outside, they shouldn’t be there anyway. Let them wonder at the noises coming out of the tent. 

A hand laces its way back into Phillip’s hair and tugs. Phillip goes with the movement, looking questioningly at Phineas.

“I just had a better idea,” Phineas informs him. He continues to pull at Phillip’s hair, tilting his head back even further. “I can, as it turns out, think of one position even better suited for you.”

Phillip has no choice but to move with the movement of Phineas’ hand. He’s being pulled backwards, off of Phineas’ lap, and down. He has to scramble up a little way as Phineas rises with him and then sinks to his knees as Phineas sits down once more, guiding Phillip to the floor at his feet.

“Much better.” Phineas nods his approval at their new arrangement. “If you wish to act like an animal, you can kneel at my feet like one.”

Phillip scowls darkly at him. “Call me an animal again,” he warns, even though he has no idea what he will do if Phineas does. Phineas clearly knows this too.

“And what will happen if I do?” He leans forwards in the chair, resting one elbow on his knee.  He twists the hand in Phillip’s hair, pulling his head back further. Tears prickle at the corners of Phillip’s eyes from the harsh sting at his scalp. They blur his view of the darkened canopy above them as it shifts slightly with the wind. It is as though the very circus is matching his laboured breaths. “If I do call you an animal,” Phineas prompts, “what then? Will you leave?”

Phillip shakes his head. His legs are so weak right now he doubts they could support him if he tried. He wouldn’t really do anything, but felt the urge to protest Phineas words regardless.

“Of course you won’t,” Phineas purrs. Pleasure drips off of his every word like molten sugar. “I can call you whatever I like. I can do whatever I like to you. And you won’t do a thing about it. You won’t even care.” He pulls Phillip closer to him again, resting the younger man’s head on his thigh. “I own you, Phillip Carlyle.” At last he lets go of Phillip’s hair. Phillip sways on his knees, has to brace himself against the throne, against Phineas. He’s making small, soft sounds that he’s only just aware of. When Phineas talks to him like this, treats him like this, he loses all power to function properly. He can feel himself slipping under, becoming the mindless animal Phineas claims him to be.

“Good boy.”  Phineas strokes gentle fingers through Phillip’s hair, a contrast to the brutal grip of a few moments ago. “You’re so good for me. The perfect little pet, waiting patiently at your master’s feet.”

A desperate noise catches in Phillip’s throat. When he looks up, Phineas is smiling down at him. He looks besotted, completely adoring. It makes Phillip blush in an entirely new way. It lasts only for a few seconds. As soon as Phineas notices that Phillip is watching him, he is back in his circus king persona, his smile little more than a lecherous sneer as he looks down at Phillip and says, “Now that everyone is where they should be, I believe you have something you should be doing down there.”

Phillip does not need to ask for clarification, even with his brain seemingly taking a leave of absence. His eyes flicker to Phineas’ crotch and the way his trousers bulge significantly. He reaches towards the trousers without passing comment and this should be embarrassing. He’s an educated, respectable man who used words for a living before he joined the circus. A few moments at the feet of the ringleader and he’s rendered mute.  Far from his usual dexterity, Phillip finds his hands clumsy as he undoes Phineas’ trousers. It takes more attempts than it should to get them loose, work them down Phineas’ hips enough to free his cock.

“Oh... good boy,” Phineas repeats as Phillip leans forwards, taking Phineas’ cock in his hand. Phillip is very close to him now. He fits snugly between Phineas’ spread legs, is kneeling close enough that he can breathe in the scent of the man. He strokes Phineas’ cock with at a languid pace to begin with. He would like to take his time; there is no need for them to hurry. But the noises Phineas makes with each stroke – somewhere between a grunt and a breathy moan with each movement of Phillip’s wrist. That, combined with Phillip’s own growing need for release and it doesn’t take very long, or much prompting from Phineas for Phillip to lean forwards still further and take Phineas into his mouth.

Phineas swears through his teeth. Phillip cannot resist flickering his gaze upwards to look at him once more. The other man has his head tilted onto the throne’s backrest. Hands grip at the arms of the chair, just how Phillip’s had done previously. There will be little crescent moon marks in the wood from their nails, small and near impossible for anyone else to ever notice. But Phillip will know they are there. So will Phineas.  What little Phillip can see of Phineas’ face is a real treat. He has his eyes closed and his mouth open. As Phillip watches, his lips move as though searching for speech. Either that, or he is counting. Trying to calm himself.

With a smirk which Phillip knows Phineas will be able to feel, Phillip flicks his tongue over the head of Phineas’ cock and moves his lips down it in one long, damp slide.

“Ah! Phillip!” Phineas suddenly grabs at Phillip’s hair again. It’s momentary, but it stills him once more. “Give me a moment. You’re too wonderful like this... Keep this up and I won’t last long.”

The praise is beautiful to Phillip. If his skin was not already a consistent pink flush he is sure he would be blushing more at those words. Although it does leave a question; surely Phineas’ completion is the whole point of this?

As if reading his mind, Phineas loosens his grip in Phillip’s hair and explains. “I want this to last, Phillip. Want to enjoy this moment with you. My good boy.” Phillip moans at the further praise and Phineas gasps again, his hips rising up from the chair slightly. “That’s...really not helping, Phillip.”

If Phillip were feeling very daring, he would moan again, purposefully. He would start to move his head again, let Phineas feel him swallowing. Phineas would come then and there, he knows it. But Phillip also would like this to last. So he waits, until Phineas once more has control of his breathing. He strokes his hand over Phillip’s head, scratching nails over his scalp and at the back of his neck.

“All right, sweet thing,” he says. “Do your worst.”

Phillip takes pleasure in doing just that.

He moves back until the head of Phineas’ cock is resting between his lips. He sucks on it gently, runs his tongue over the slit, before moving back down once more. This is not his first time. He knows just how to tease, just how to coax pleasure from Phineas. It is a balance between long, slow movements - moving down to swallow Phineas nearly to the hilt – and shallower, rapid movements – not taking Phineas’ full length each time, but quicker, his tongue curling around the shaft.

Phineas may be in charge. He may be the one sitting in the throne, calling all the shots, but this is how Phillip can unmake him. Phillip’s hands rub up and down the insides of Phineas’ thighs, moving them higher in time with the movements of his head, right up to the older man’s crotch.

All the while, Phineas murmurs encouragement above him. “That’s it. Good boy Phillip... that’s so good... do that again, you wonderful boy.” His voice has grown even deeper than normal and it is rough with a growl at the end of his half formed sentences.

For his part, Phillip is still achingly hard. He longs to reach down, to take himself in hand, but he knows that won’t be allowed. He tightens his grip on Phineas’ legs instead, near purring as the ringmaster shifts to spread his legs as far as they will go within the confines of the chair.

It is perhaps not long enough before Phillip feels Phineas starting to tense. The hands which have been stroking his hair, his face, tighten momentarily. It’s a warning and Phillip takes the moment to pull back. A few seconds, and a few expert caresses from Phillip, later and Phineas comes all over his own stomach and Phillip’s hands. He slumps in his seated position with a groan, every muscle in his body going slack in the after effects of pleasure. Phillip nuzzles at the inside of his thigh, kisses him there. He kisses Phineas’ stomach too, tasting sweat and the man’s seed. Neither is particularly repulsive to him at the moment and he lets out a little moan of want.

“Listen to you,” Phineas says. He’s regained enough control now to stroke at Phillip’s face. “Mewling away, on your knees like a little whore...” He trails off, still slightly breathless.

Phillip’s face colours with embarrassment. “I was not mewling,” he protests, stubbornly. “And I am not a whore.”

“Oh really?” Phineas’ fingers tighten on Phillip’s chin and once more he is forced to look up into Phineas’ burning gaze. “What else would you call someone who kneels at a man’s feet, having sucked his cock? _Mewling_ at just the taste of his seed?” Phillip whines again. “A cheap tart?” Phineas suggests, apparently not about to let this drop. “A harlot?”

“Oh shut up, Phineas...” Phillip groans. He closes his eyes. The unmistakable arousal at Phineas’ words runs through his veins.

“Little slut.” Phineas releases Phillip’s chin but for the moment, Phillip keeps his eyes shut. He feels a slick finger running over his bottom lip and opens his mouth obediently. That same familiar, salty taste pools on Phillip’s tongue. He opens his eyes to see Phineas grinning down at him like a shark. “Just though you might like another taste,” Phineas comments, as though he is being awfully charitable about this.

Phillip is still desperately hard. This kind of play, these rough words, it does nothing but heighten his desire. He shifts his weight on his knees, presses his thighs closer together, hoping for some friction, any at all. He edges closer to Phineas , looks up at him hopefully. Phineas laughs.

“What would happen if I said no? Or if I said you could only get off by with my leg pressed between yours for you to writhe on?”

Phillip does not answer. If it were the former, Phillip might actually cry. If it were the latter, he’d do it. He probably wouldn’t even hesitate.

After a moment of watching Phillip squirm, Phineas relents with a slightly softer grin. “Come on,” he instructs, beckoning Phillip with his hands. “Up you come.”

Phillip crawls up the older man’s body, his limbs too weak to make a less clumsy job of it. He settles into Phineas’ lap once more, wrapping his legs around his waist this time, pressing himself close. It puts new, wonderful pressure on his cock at last and he whimpers, shifting to gain yet more pressure and hoping he won’t be told to stop.

Phineas runs his hands over Phillip’s back. “That’s it, sweet thing,” he whispers. A contrast to the names he had called Phillip before. His hands move between them, pushing Phillip’s trousers further down. Phillip lifts first one knee and them the other, helping to guide them off. Once that task is complete, Phineas draws him close once more and kisses his forehead. He talks against Phillip’s warmed skin.  “It’s lucky for you, I just made a nice slick spot for you to rut against-” Phillip’s body jumps with a spike of pleasure, “- so go right ahead, darling.”

There is a part of Phillip, the part of him that is still just a lost little rich boy who stumbled down the wrong path, which shudders at what he is doing. The biggest part of Phillip is too far gone to care. He moves against Phineas’ body desperately, as feral as any animal Phineas had previously likened him to. His hips writhe. His arms wrap around Phineas’ shoulders as Phillip leans forwards, burying his face against Phineas’ shoulder and near wailing.

All the while, Phineas’ hands are on him. They caress fevered flushed skin, tracing the scratches he left before. They find the sensitive spots on Phillip’s sides until he is gasping. Mostly, they just hold Phillip close. Phineas whispers near constant encouragement. He reminds Phillip over and over again how wonderful he is, how beautiful, how perfect.

When Phillip comes it is with tears dampening his face and Phineas’ name in his mouth.

“Perfect,” Phineas says once more. “Perfect, perfect, perfect. And mine.”

“Yours,” Phillip confirms. He feels weightless. Drifting. He is glad of the chair beneath them both, and of Phineas’ strong grip around his waist.

Neither of them makes an attempt to move from the throne. They share soft, languid kisses against shoulders and necks and faces. Still mostly naked, it doesn’t take long for Phillip’s body to begin to cool. There’s little heat to be had in the empty circus. He’s damp with his own come, and Phineas’, and he starts to shiver. In an instant, Phineas is shrugging off his own shirt and wrapping it around Phillip like a blanket.

“Thanks,” mumbles Phillip. “But what about you?”

Phineas shrugs. “I’ll just hold you close. Keep us both warm. I’m like a furnace anyway, you know that.”

Phillip does know that. Many nights during the summer he had to wriggle away from Phineas’ embrace just so that he could sleep without the constant heat the man seemed to put out. For a while they fall back into easy, tender silence. It is a while before it is broken again.

“My beautiful throne,” Phineas groans after a while, with all pretence at seriousness. “It’s been defiled.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, maybe?”

Phillip rolls his eyes. “Not likely. This, like so many other things, is all your fault. Another one of PT Barnum’s great ideas.”

Phineas doesn’t know the concept of shame well enough to look anything over than smug at that comment. “One of my best,” he mutters in agreement.

* * *

Sex in the throne does not seem like quite such a good idea the next day. Phineas doesn’t understand the concept of sleeping patterns and can be up at any hour, when his thoughts are racing. But he has to practically drag Phillip out of bed before the sun is even fully up.

“C’mon, Phillip,” Phineas calls happily, throwing clothes at Phillip’s barely coherent form. “We’ve got some tidying up to do.”

* * *

They make it to the circus far too early for Phillip’s liking. It does, however, give them enough time to scrub the throne down, then carry it under the bleachers to dry.

When the rest of the troop arrive, and ask why they’re not practicing with the throne Phineas had been so keen on yesterday, he puts it down to ‘last minute repairs’.

\--

A week later, Phillip is glad that he is not expected to be in this particular routine. Just watching from the sidelines is bad enough. At least it is dark where he stands watching, every spotlight focussed as it is on Phineas, and the throne he sits in. All Phillip can think about is how Phineas had looked, sprawled out in that very chair, legs spread, weak with lust.

Now he sits in it with all the poise of a king who was born to rule.

It’s all Phillip can do to stop himself from crawling to him, ready to serve.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame this all on the Barlyle discord. It's their fault, really.


End file.
